The Shadow Club Rising (19 page)

"Fine, I promise not to smash your atoms before
she
does." And then I laughed. "M
aria Nixbok Dates Tyson
McGaw—isn't that one of the biblical signs of the end of the world?"

"Ha-ha," he said. "You just can't stand that I'm not a freak anymore."

"You were never a freak," I told him with deep sincerity. "Just a loser." I thought he might curse me out, but instead he just smiled, and I smiled back. "Have a good time, Tyson," I told him, and added, "Don't kiss her with popcorn in your mouth. That grosses girls out."

He laughed. "Can I write that down? My first bit of brotherly advice."

Brotherly.
Now,
there
was a thermonuclear word.

"So . . . I guess my parents talked to you about it," I said cautiously. "They told me they would."

Tyson looked away. "They mentioned it. They said it's up to me."

"So, what do you think?"

Tyson shrugged, for a brief moment looking like the scared kid I once rescued from his own flames. "I'm not sure yet. I mean, my initials would be the same, right? But calling myself Tyson Mercer would be weird. Still, I wouldn't mind it, y'know? Being your brother?" He thought about it a moment more, then brightened. "Tell you what. When I decide, you'll be the first to know."

"Fair enough."

After he left, I returned my attention to the small package that still had no address. If it was a letter bomb, it wasn't much of one, but it wasn't a large-scale type of thing. It was more like a surgical strike. Carefully I wrote the address in block letters. Then I took a run down to the post office, getting there just before it closed.

There have been a lot of changes in my life over the past year—awful things I've seen and done, mistakes I've made. A person can grow from mistakes, or a person can deny them completely, letting their anger build up inside them until it blows. That's why I sent my little letter bomb.

And so, tomorrow or the next day, Jodi Lattimer will receive a package. It will have no return address, no hint of who sent it, but she'll know all the same. Because she will open it to find—wrapped in tissue paper—a shiny seashell, about the size of her fist. I don't know what she'll hear when she holds it up to her ear, but maybe, just maybe she'll hear the echoes of the world around her and finally feel the depth of the pain she helped to cause.

But if, in the end, all she can hear is the sea . . . then vigilance will have to be enough.

Neal Shusterman
began his writing career shortly after graduation from college. In the years since, he has made his mark as a successful novelist. His books have been honored with awards from the International Reading Association, the American Library Association, and many states. His novels span many genres, from suspense thrillers to science fiction to true crime to social satire. In all his work he combines true-to-life characters with sensitive and riveting issues and binds it all together with a unique sense of humor. As a screenwriter, Mr. Shusterman writes original scripts as well as adaptations of his novels for film and TV. His other talents range from film directing to writing music and stage plays. He lives in southern California with his four children. You can visit the author on his Web site at
www.storyman.com